Chapter Fourteen
“Get out,” Eli barked, slamming shut the file he’d been reviewing. He shoved it across his desk at the hapless flunky who’d no doubt drawn the short straw and been sent into the lion’s den. Eli didn’t know his name, and to be honest, he didn’t give a shit. Just like he hadn’t given a shit about anything in the two weeks since Brooke had stranded him in the storage closet. “And don’t come back until those numbers are right. Check them as many times as it takes to be sure.”
“Y-yes, sir,” the flunky stammered, picking up the file and backing toward the door.
“I need them on my desk first thing in the morning. I don’t care if it means you’re here all night.”
“Yes, sir.”
He fled as fast as his shiny shoes would take him. Eli opened another file and tried to focus, but the numbers and letters swam in front of him.
“Heard you scared off another one,” Simon observed, coming into the office without knocking. “Keep it up and we won’t have any associates left. At least, none willing to work with you.”
“Don’t you ever knock?” Even as he said the words, Eli heard them in Brooke’s voice, giving him hell for his habit of entering unannounced. The knife that had been lodged in his heart for the past fourteen days twisted again.
“Nope.” Simon took up residence in one of Eli’s guest chairs, stretched out his long legs, and crossed them at the ankles. “Partner privilege.”
Eli leaned back in his chair and studied the man who had been his friend since college. He’d struggled with whether to continue their partnership. His original intention had been to leave Momentum and force Simon to buy him out and waive their non-compete agreement so Eli could throw all of his energy into Hearthstone. But somehow, with Brooke out of the picture, that didn’t seem quite as appealing now.
So he’d decided not to make any rash moves, at least until they’d outed Krystal as their mole and gotten Momentum back on track. That had all come to a head yesterday when she brought Dupree a copy of the dummy file Simon planted. It hadn’t taken long for Dupree to take the bait and call Ginny, who was posing as the commercial real estate broker handling the fictitious transaction.
Simon propped his feet up on Eli’s desk. “You look like shit.”
Eli looked down at his outfit. Immaculately tailored gray herringbone suit. Pale blue button-down shirt. Navy polka-dot tie. Now that he was back in the penthouse, he had his full wardrobe at his disposal. Small compensation for losing the woman he loved. “This is my favorite suit. And I’m pretty sure you gave me the tie.”
“I’m not talking about your goddamn clothes. I’m talking about the circles under your eyes. Are you sleeping?”
“Yes.” If an hour a night—two, tops—counted as sleep. Eli did a quick reverse and changed the subject. “How did it go with Krystal? She out?”
“She was escorted from the building half an hour ago without incident.” Simon laced his fingers together. “I’ve turned everything over to the police. They’ll let us know if there’s enough to prosecute.”
“Glad that’s taken care of that.” Eli stood, took off his jacket, and hung it on the hanger behind his door. Then he crossed to his credenza where he uncorked a decanter of Macallan Sherry Oak and poured out generous amounts of the amber liquid in two glasses. “Any idea why she sold us out?”
He handed one glass to Simon, who took it and sipped before answering. “Money. Turns out she was doing more than her nails at her desk. She was a compulsive online shopper. All her credit cards were maxed out, and she was three months behind in rent. Dupree paid her ten grand for every tip and promised her a job down the line.”
“Ten grand,” Eli scoffed. He sat on the edge of his desk and pushed Simon’s feet off. “That’s chump change for him. Cheapskate.”
They drank in silence for a minute before Simon spoke. “Now that all this shit with Krystal and Dupree is in the rearview mirror, I have to ask. Are we good?”
“Truth?”
“Truth.”
Eli swirled his scotch. “I don’t know if we’ll ever be good. I’m hoping our business relationship can be saved. But you slept with your PA. Risked everything we spent years building together. I’m not going to be able to forget that any time soon.”
“I thought I was in love with her.” Simon slumped in his seat and took a healthy slug of scotch. “I don’t know how it happened, or why. But once it started, it was like I was powerless to stop it.”
“The heart wants what it wants.” Eli swirled and sipped, swirled, and sipped again. “There’s no denying it.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“What makes you think that?”
Simon absentmindedly ran a finger around the rim of his glass as he studied Eli. “Why else would you be stomping around here like Godzilla?”
“Are you seriously expecting me to discuss my love life with you?”
“Does it have anything to do with Brooke Worthington?”
It was a good thing Eli had a tight grasp on his glass or it would have hit the floor. “How do you know about Brooke?”
“Paige said she was looking for you at the auction, and I saw the two of you leave together.”
“Well if you saw us leave together, then you know it wasn’t all sunshine and roses.” Eli drained his glass and strode over to the credenza to get a refill. This was definitely a two-scotch conversation. Maybe three.
“What did you do to piss off the hotel heiress?”
Eli’s palms started to sweat. He wiped them on his pants and somehow managed to pour two fingers of scotch without sloshing it all over the floor. “The what?”
“Brooke Worthington. Heir apparent to the Worthington hotel chain.” Simon gaped at him. “You didn’t know?”
Worthington. Why hadn’t he made the connection? Probably for the same reason he’d been able to fly under the radar on the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge. He wasn’t expecting to find a hotel heiress in Sunset Park. And like him, Brooke hadn’t wanted to make a big deal out of her wealth. Okay, so she hadn’t out-and-out lied about it like he had, but she hadn’t exactly been forthcoming, either. No wonder she’d been so understanding about that part of his deception. Too bad he had to compound it by hiding the fact that he was going to be her new landlord.
Eli settled back behind his desk with his drink. “Can’t say I blame her for keeping it to herself. It’s not like I was entirely truthful with her.”
“Hold on.” Simon held up a hand. “You lost me. Back up and start at the beginning.”
Maybe it was the scotch. Maybe it was the fact that Simon had been his closest friend for over ten years. Whatever the reason, Eli found himself giving him the condensed version of his relationship with Brooke, concluding with the whole sorry scene in the closet.
When he was done, Simon let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s rough. What are you going to do?”
“What can I do? She won’t take my calls. Blocked my number. She clearly doesn’t want to have anything to do with me.” Eli took a sip of his scotch and cupped the glass between his hands, staring down into the amber abyss. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all this.”
“We can’t always pick our allies. You know, beggars can’t be choosers and all that.” Simon tossed back the rest of his drink.
“You have a weird, twisted point.” Eli loosened his tie and undid the first button on his shirt. “So how do I win back a woman who won’t talk to me? She won’t even let me show her the plans for Candy Court.”
“What plans?”
Eli set his glass aside and grabbed a cardboard tube from behind his desk. He slid the plans out and spread them flat on the desk. Simon leaned forward to study them for a long minute then sat back, running a finger thoughtfully along his jaw. “Interesting.”
“Yep.”
“Not our usual M.O.”
“Nope.”
Simon tapped the plans. “If this doesn’t convince her you love her, nothing will.”
“That would be great if there were a snowball’s chance in hell I could get her to look at it.”
“You need to find out where she’s going to be. Somewhere public, where she can’t freak out. Then you spring this on her, say those three magic words, and bam. All is forgiven.”
“Sounds kind of like stalking.”
“Not if it works,” Simon shot back, unruffled. “Then it’s romantic.”
Eli drummed his fingers on the desktop, something he did when he was deep in thought. “She mentioned something about a neighborhood meeting to discuss the sale of the building.”
“Perfect.” Simon raised his glass, signaling for a refill. “Women love a grand gesture. You can unveil the plans there. Win everyone over with your wit, charm, and brilliant vision.”
“It’s pretty risky,” Eli mused, ignoring his friend’s empty glass. “What if she turns me down? I’m not really into public humiliation.”
“What’s that old saying? Nothing ventured, nothing gained?” Giving up on Eli, Simon went to the credenza and poured his own drink. “You didn’t get where you are today by playing it safe.”
Eli lifted his glass to his lips and drank, a plan already starting to form. He’d have to move fast. First order of business was to find out when and where the meeting was being held without tipping off Brooke. And he knew just the person to help him.
“Go big or go home.” He raised his glass in a mock toast.
Simon clinked his glass with Eli’s. “Exactly.”
…
Working from home had its advantages. Like not showering for days on end and subsisting on junk food and Diet Coke. Made wallowing in self-pity so much easier.
It helped that Brooke had a little sister willing to overlook her substandard appearance—and questionable odor—and trek out to Brooklyn to replenish her supply of said junk food and Diet Coke.
“Thanks, Mal.” Brooke took one of the grocery bags from her sister, brought it over to the counter, and started to unpack. Powdered donuts. Chex mix. Slim Jims. Twinkies. It looked like Mallory had bought out an entire gas station convenience store.
Their parents were right. She was the nice one.
“I brought some real food, too, so you don’t die of malnutrition.” Mallory followed Brooke into the apartment and hip-checked the door closed behind her, her arms otherwise occupied with the remaining grocery bag. “And a little something special.”
She dangled a smaller plastic bag from her fingers. Brooke took it from her and peered inside.
“Please tell me that’s your homemade black satin mousse cake inside that box,” she said hopefully.
“If the kitchen at the Worthington counts as home.” Mallory put the second grocery bag on the counter along with her purse and leaned against it to scrutinize her sister. “That’s an interesting ensemble.”
“What, this old thing?” Brooke fingered the hem of her tattered RISD sweatshirt, which she’d paired with Minnie Mouse pajama pants and fluffy unicorn slippers.
“And you smell god-awful.” Mallory wrinkled her nose. “How long has it been since you showered?”
So much for overlooking her lack of personal hygiene. “I plead the fifth.”
“I get that you’re nursing a broken heart.” Her sister reached into the second grocery bag and started pulling out what she apparently considered real food. Baby carrots. Hummus. Chicken cutlets. Bananas. “But you’re going to have to leave this apartment eventually.”
“Eventually can be a long, long time.” With the bags unpacked, Brooke got to work putting the perishables in the refrigerator.
“What about the bar? Don’t they need you?”
“I’ve been cutting back on my hours there, working on my book and doing more freelance design stuff.”
“That’s good, I guess.” Mallory picked up a banana, peeled it, and took a bite. “But you’re going to have to rejoin the land of the living at some point. You’re not the first person to be unlucky in love.”
“More than unlucky, Mal.” Brooke put the last of the perishables in the refrigerator, closed the door, and slumped against it. “He lied to me. About everything. Our entire relationship was one big, colossal joke to him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know the whole time he was screwing me, he was planning on evicting me.”
“Do you?” Mallory asked. “He said he was buying the building, but did he tell you what he was going to do with it?”
“Not exactly,” Brooke hedged. “But he’s a big-time real estate developer. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he’s going to tear this place to the ground and put up a luxury high-rise. Or convert it into overpriced condos for the nouveau riche.”
“I’ll admit, it doesn’t look good.” Mallory polished off the banana and threw the peel in the trash. “But didn’t he give you some kind of explanation when you asked him?”
“I didn’t ask.” Brooke tore open the bag of Chex mix and dug in.
Mallory nodded knowingly. “Now I’m getting the picture. You did your cut-and-run routine.”
What was she talking about? Brooke was all fight, not flight. “I do not cut and run.”
“You don’t think you do, but you do.” Mallory pulled a stool out from under the counter and sat. “Why else would you be living way out here?”
Brooke took a seat on the stool across from her, putting the bag of Chex mix between them. “It’s Brooklyn, Mal. Not Bosnia.”
“Might as well be.” Mallory grabbed a handful of Chex mix and popped some into her mouth. “Look, I’m not saying running is always a bad thing. Sometimes a little distance is healthy. Necessary, even. It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.”
A soft, faraway look came into her sister’s eyes, and Brooke wondered what she was hinting at. It disappeared as quickly as it came. The moment passed, and Mallory continued. “But before you head for the metaphorical hills, you should at least give Eli a chance to tell his side of the story.”
“His side of the story?” Brooke almost choked on her Chex mix. “He lied. What more is there to know?”
“Didn’t you lie, too? Or did you tell him you’re Brooke Worthington of the hotel Worthingtons?”
Snagged.
“It’s not the same.” Brooke broke open the box of donuts, took one out and all but inhaled it. Two thumbs up for emotional eating.
“Isn’t it? At least a little bit?” Mallory didn’t wait for her to answer. “You owe him the chance to explain. You owe it to yourself.”
“How can you be so sure?” Brooke licked powdered sugar off her lip. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“I watched you two at the wedding. I haven’t seen you that happy and relaxed with a member of the opposite sex in, like, ever. And that guy is totally in love with you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you all night.”
Something stirred inside her. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge, much less name. She pushed it way down deep and reached for another donut. “You got all that from a few hours on a rooftop in questionable lighting?”
Mallory hopped off her stool and grabbed two Diet Cokes out of the refrigerator. “Sometimes you’ve just got to trust your instincts.”
She kept one of the sodas for herself and slid the other across the counter to Brooke. Then she sat back down, popped the tab, and drank.
Brooke followed suit, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her sweatshirt when she was done. “Yeah, well, my instincts suck. They let me fall in love with someone who’s a carbon copy of Dad.”
“Really? Aside from the fact that he’s one of the richest men in Manhattan, how is Eli remotely like Dad?”
“He’s…” Brooke stalled. How was Eli like her father? He was supportive, not selfish. Took an interest in her career, her friends. Fixed sinks and planned weddings without asking for or expecting anything in return. And although he was rich, he didn’t let his money define him.
Qualities as foreign to her father as making minimum wage.
Mallory cleared her throat. “I’m waiting.”
Since Brooke had no answer to her sister’s question, she asked one of her own. “How do I know it wasn’t all an act?”
“You don’t.” Mallory gave a rueful little lift of her shoulder. “Not for certain. That’s where those instincts come in. And yours aren’t anywhere near as bad as you think. You had Hunter pegged as a pretentious prick the minute you met him.”
Brooke’s jaw dropped, and a little piece of donut plopped onto her sweatshirt just above her left breast. “I never said…”
“You didn’t have to,” Mallory interrupted. “It was written all over your face. And you were right. We broke up.”
“Oh, Mal.” Brooke reached across the counter and covered Mallory’s hand with hers. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so preoccupied with my own drama, I didn’t realize you were hurting, too.”
“Probably because I’m not.” Mallory gave her sister’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Which should tell you something.”
“What?”
“The man I lost wasn’t worth keeping. But maybe—just maybe—yours is.”
Mallory’s cell phone chimed. She pulled it out of her purse, swiped the screen and scowled.
“What’s wrong?” Brooke asked.
Mallory tossed her phone back into her purse and stood. “The idiots at the fish market messed up our delivery again. I’ve got to go take care of this, or we’ll have to take the scallop special off the menu tonight.”
“Go. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine here with my processed food and carbonated syrup.” Brooke held up her soda can in mock toast.
“Okay. But promise me you’ll think about what we discussed.”
“I promise.” Not a hard one to make. Or to keep. Brooke couldn’t imagine she’d have space in her brain for much else.
Mallory came around the counter to give her sister a hug. “And one more thing.”
“Name it.”
Mallory scrunched up her nose and pulled away. “Take a shower.”